


Rest My Child

by chelsea_bun



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Angst, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Needs A Help, Erik has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Post-Magda and Nina Deaths, Post-X-Men: Days of Future Past, Running Away, Self-Destruction, Violence, X-Men Apocalypse Non-Compliant, hank is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 04:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17460602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelsea_bun/pseuds/chelsea_bun
Summary: After Magda and Nina are murdered Erik runs away to keep himself and anyone else he loves safe. He struggles to cope running from country to country and loses himself to grief.





	Rest My Child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brilliantdreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilliantdreams/gifts).



Held still by the old ghosts of Poland, Erik stopped running. Enthralled by a cottage in the woods, Erik stayed still. And so time crept on. Days spent holding a woman so beautiful he forgot he was dirty; nights spent singing to an innocent so pure, so precious, that even his nightmares were kept at bay. His heart, so devoid of peace, devoured until there was no more, until, like a disease, the shadows of his past found him. And Erik was reminded, that even beauties and innocents were not safe from the arrow that had been chasing him since 1944. 

 

To Erik, running was as familiar as metal. But that was the only comparison between the two. Where metal was captivating, running was repulsive. Each city was the same; the same boorish buildings with the same pathetic humans, eating the same tasteless food. Like an infestation of ants, each with a God complex. But running was a necessary evil, a sacrifice to spare the lives of those around him. If he kept running, the arrow would keep following, instead of embedding itself into the flesh of his beloveds. 

 

Days bled into weeks, peace transformed into desolation, and Erik was reunited with his true self.

 

He fled from one motel to the next, only staying for a few restless nights at each hovel.  _ Don’t make eye contact, don’t speak German, don’t touch metal, don’t scream in the night; please, don’t scream in the night.  _ He was never given a second glance. Sweaty housekeepers barely looked up from their reality tv to snatch his money away or accept the returned key. Neighbours were too busy screaming at each other in hate, love, or both to notice his presence. Bartenders always sampled their own supplies, and woke up the next day devoid of any recollections of the sullen stranger.  _ Deplorable humans _ . 

 

But the more time he spent around them, whether he was in France, Spain, Italy, the more he sunk to their level. He spat out crude replies, spent his days intoxicated, barely showered, ate tasteless garbage. He became best friends with the yellow stained beds, contributing his own dank imprint; another lifeless soul lay here.

 

The fear of being caught was the only thing that got him up and moving on. Every few days he would sit up alarmed, terror clawing at his chest;  _ they’d found him, someone recognised him and called the police, they were surrounding him, boxing him in, trapping him _ . He’d bolt upright and lurch for his bag. He’d ignore the glass crunching under his feet and the nausea sluicing through him; the remanence of last night’s drunken stupor. He’d pull his hood down over his face and take off, throwing the keys at the reception counter. His shaking hands would tighten around the metal spoon he had taken to carrying around in his pocket, a convenient weapon. But he never needed to use it. There was never any swat team outside, never the unmistakable howl of sirens, never  _ Charles _ ; even without his helmet, there was never Charles. He was out in the open, and nobody even cared. He promptly vomited. 

 

Eventually, Erik stopped hiding. Moved from city to city in the open, looked people in the eye and dared them to challenge him. He was simply too tired, too tired to care, too tired to try. He refused to accept the thought that told him it was because he wanted to be found. There was only one person who had the ability to find him, the sweet, blue eyed man that once called himself Erik’s friend. But Charles had given up on him a long time ago. 

 

“And rightly so,” Erik muttered to himself. 

 

“You what?” A greasy man two barstools over slurred at him. 

 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Erik took a swig of his drink;  _ beer, whiskey? Definitely beer. Or was it whiskey? _

 

“Who you talking to then?” The man demanded, turning to face him directly. 

 

“I was talking to the pig boy that was sitting here a moment ago,” Erik swivelled in his chair and squinted at him before his face lit up, “oh, sorry! It is you! Beg your pardon, pig boy.”

 

The man blinked slowly, Erik could smell the lousy cogs churning in his slimey head. He could get up and walk away from this fight before the man even realised Erik was picking one. 

 

But moving seemed like an insurmountable task, so he squared his shoulders and took a sip,  _ definitely whiskey,  _ before he was punched so brutally his head snapped back; neck cracking, glass shattering, nose pouring blood. 

 

“Apologise,” the pig boy snarled.

 

Erik simply spat blood onto the man’s shirt and grinned at him.

 

Another blow to the face. 

 

“Apologise.”

 

Erik started laughing.

 

“Apologise!” The man roared. 

 

Erik giggled, “would you like to see a magic trick? Pass me that coin.”

 

“Fucking mental,” the pig boy conceded and stormed off.

 

Erik spat some more, wiping his face on his sleeve, before asking the bartender for another drink.

 

The bartender stared at him in astonishment, “mate, just pay for the drinks and damages and fuck off!”

 

Erik dragged himself up and out of the bar, swaying on unsteady feet. Patrons glared at him and he snarled back. How dare they judge him, how dare they look down upon him; he could end them all, show them all such a wonderful magic trick. But he kept walking, leaning unsteadily on tables as he passed. 

 

“Freak,” some tart hissed at him as he passed. 

 

“ Miststück,” he hissed right back.

 

He managed to make it outside. And blinked harshly. It was daylight. People were milling about shopping, children were chasing each other around. Erik slid down the outside wall and huddled amongst the cigarette butts and shards of glass. It was noon. An older gentleman was walking a dog, a lady was on a bicycle, a bus full of people going to important places to see important people. A choked off sound escaped him, shuddered its way out of him involuntarily. He was drunk and bleeding and crying during the middle of the day in an unknown city and nobody was looking for him. Erik buried his face into his knees and wept. 

 

People went into the bar. People left. Most ignored him but some threw hurtful words his way; “disgusting”, “piece of shit”, “waste of space”. He sat there slumped and took it. Watching the world go by without him until night settled in and the cold clung to him damply. 

 

“You fucking cheated,” a man accused, slamming the bar door open and lumbering out with two others in tow. 

 

“Nah, mate, I told you I was the king of pool. Now pay up.”

 

“You know I’m broke and Mary’ll bloody kill me!”

 

“Not my prob-” He stopped short, noticing Erik. “Well, looky looky! Oi, Craig, it’s your boyfriend!”

 

The pig boy looked over, “Oh, nah, fuck off!” 

 

The other two howled in laughter and Erik eyed them dully. 

 

“Nah, nah, fuck this,” Craig hissed and Erik had the right mind to protect his side before pig boy struck his leg out and kicked. 

 

And didn’t stop kicking.

 

Erik curled in a ball and gripped his convenient little spoon. He could use it, turn against him and protect himself, but instead he lay there and cried out in pain as each kick hammered into him. He clutched the spoon like a talisman and grunted at the impact as tears slid silently from his eyes. Like a prayer he begged wordlessly for someone to find him, to help him or to end him, whichever was quicker. 

 

After multiple ribs were broken the men left, spitting on Erik’s battered form as they passed. Hours went by but Erik refused to uncurl, refused to let go of the spoon. 

 

“ _ Bitte _ ,” he moaned, “ _ please _ .”

 

***

 

Someone placed a gentle hand on Erik’s shoulder. He sat up, startled, and immediately keeled over in pain. He squeezed his eyes shut against the wave of vertigo that washed over him. 

 

“Go. Away.” 

 

“Erik,” a voice pleaded. 

 

His eyes snapped open to take in Hank’s form looking down at him. Concern marred his face. 

 

Erik couldn’t speak, could only blink back tears that threatened to fall.

 

“We’ve come to help you,” Hank crouched down next to him.

 

“We?” Erik whispered.

 

Hank nodded reassuringly. “Can you walk?”

 

“I- Could I get some help?” Erik looked at the ground shamefully.

 

“Of course, Erik. I’m gonna put my arm around you now, okay?”

 

Hank slid his arm around Erik and gently pulled him to his feet. Pride couldn’t keep Erik from leaning heavily on Hank. And together they ambled down the street. After turning a corner, the Blackbird loomed into view; parked hastily in a school’s sports field. 

 

An equal mix of dread and longing rose up in Erik as they neared the sleek jet.

 

“Charles?” He called silently in his mind.

 

“Oh, Erik, oh, God, I’m here! Are you okay?”

 

Tears spilled down his bloody face. That voice. The voice of the man he loved, so deeply concerned for someone as worthless as him.

 

“No,” he choked, “my Nina, my-” he stumbled. 

 

“It’s okay, Erik, we’re almost there. Just up the stairs, I’m right here,” Hank encouraged gently.

 

“It should have been me,” he sobbed loudly. 

 

“One step at a time, Erik,” Hank held him fast around the waist, “Charles?!”

 

Erik shakily climbed the stairs to the Blackbird and froze when he reached the top. Charles was wheeling himself hastily from the cockpit. Another casualty of Erik’s curse. He collapsed to his knees. 

 

“Oh, Erik,” Charles cried. 

 

Charles’ heart shattered for the man kneeling broken and devastated before him. Blood and tears streaked his face, and a sound like a dying animal ratcheted out of him. 

 

“Erik, Erik, Erik,” he begged and reached for his bruised face, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

 

Erik fell forward and buried his face onto his lap, and wailed. And all Charles could do was cry and pray with him as he patted the man’s matted hair as gently as he could. 

 

Hank took off and Charles held Erik ever so gently. Charles rocked the broken man and hummed:

 

“ _ Odpocznij moje dziecko _

_ Dzień się skończył _

_ Słońce zaświeci _

_ Gdy przyjdzie poranek _

_ Ale teraz jest ciemno i świat jest spokojny _

_ Więc daj odpocząć oczom swym i zaśnij. _

 

_ Rest my child _

_ The day is over _

_ The sun will shine _

_ When the morning comes _

_ But now it’s dark and the world is calm _

_ So let your eyes rest and fall asleep.” _

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
